Wild Things
by Deathofme
Summary: SSHG. Severus enacts his revenge upon the deadly Bellatrix Black. Rated for sex and violence.


**Title:** Wild Things  
**Rated:** R  
**Characters:** Severus, Hermione, Bellatrix  
**Summary:** A funeral, some sex, and playing dead with a cat. It's dark, I'm warning you.  
**Notes:** I stole a line from D.H. Lawrence, I'm sorry. The rest is from JKR as well, so all standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I am making no money. Have fun, folks

WILD THINGS

* * *

He did not even have the dignity of being invited to her funeral.

There were others who were deemed more worthy of bearing her passage into eternal darkness. He was denied the final intimacy of caressing the polished wood, which bore her to the ground. He was not the person to flowers or to scatter dark earth over her fading likeness.

He was forced to skulk by dead trees and far away headstones until the funeral was over, like a stranger. Like someone who did not know the secrets of her bed. Of course, he knew Potter was right in asking him to stay away. He knew the unnecessary fuss his presence would cause, the outraged questions and accusations. If anything, he wanted Hermione to be remembered as a pure woman. His name meant scandal in any context.

And it was also a matter of unspoken leverage. He would do Potter the favour of keeping his head low. And Potter would do him the courtesy of turning a blind eye – ever should he need it.

Potter had some claim to his cooperation; it was he who had first found them after all. Severus' hands were curled around her face, his eyes desperately seeking hers. The moon shone omnipotent from the sky, and under her light the blood shone black and indistinguishable from her robes. Her face was streaked with his frantic fingertips, hoping to coax life back into her still face. Her eyes were dull opals, staring at nothing.

"I believe you."

Potter's grand entrance. One glance at the chaotic scene should have sealed Severus' damnation, but it must have been the anguished look in his eyes that contested for his innocence. Potter had carefully removed Hermione from his arms and cast charms to obscure the bloody streaks on her face. They looked too much like fingers clawing away, beseeching.

Severus Apparated before the rest of the Aurors appeared. When he materialized in Spinner's End he crumpled to the floor and did not move for the entire night. His entire capacity for warmth had lay in his arms, mangled and broken. He would have stayed on the dusty floorboards forever in hibernation if he were a good man.

Severus, however, had one thing left – one thing after every good thing was stripped away.

Anger.

It had fuelled him through lonely years and ultimately condemned him. It would serve him well now.

* * *

"You see, I knew you would come find me."

Her laugh is husky, yet girlish.

"You can become tiring and predictable, Snape."

She doesn't seem surprised when his hand winds around her throat. She chuckles instead and her wand point digs into his chest.

"Where's your wand – have you forgotten that you're a wizard already? I suppose fucking mudbloods would do that to someone—"

"_Don't_, Bella."

His eyes are hollow and hers reveal no pity. The wand point digging into his chest drops to the side. Her eyes narrow and she regards him coldly. A jagged husk. Hurting. Vulnerable.

"Come play, little snake." She smoothly removes herself from his grasp and sits down in her armchair.

"Why?"

"Sit."

"Tell me _why_."

"Sit. I won't have you towering over me."

As he makes to sit down in an adjacent chair, she pats her lap with a lewd smile. He scowls and looks away, hair swinging in front of his face.

"Drink?"

Her alabaster hand twirls neatly in the air, a decanter and two glasses summoned to her wand hand. She pours him something that looks deceptively comforting and pushes it into his fingers. Her nails are worn and poke holes into her façade of ease. Living in hiding hasn't been kind to her.

He takes the drink and wets his lips with it. Mead. From Lucius' stores, surreptitiously taken.

She didn't use her wand, he feels no gorge rise upon the sight of it. It is her hands, her mocking talons – the envy of Lady Macbeth, who felt one thing that made her human: remorse. Bella is not human. Bella is laughing at him.

"She made you happy."

He looks up at her slowly.

"That's why." Her voice still has the genteel tickle of amusement. Her fingers caress her throat, creamy and chiseled. Those nails punctured and raked long, angry lesions into virgin skin. Those deceptively small, startling strong hands broke bones and composed symphonies of terror with the base human sound of screaming.

How much did you enjoy it, milky viper?

"That's your reason."

"In one."

"And somehow that mattered to you?"

She looks pleased with herself upon hearing his incredulity.

"I don't want you to be happy, Snape. You of all people have no right to happiness – the sight of it offended me."

She gets up and makes her way over to him. She looms over him, bosom slightly heaving, hair mingling with his.

"You've been in bed with Misery so long. That is your wife. That is who you should embrace… did you really expect her to ignore your indiscretion? She is possessive and she is cruel. You are paying for your hubris, Severus."

He grasps her chin firmly and roughly tilts her head to the side.

"And you administer her justice, do you?"

Bella cackles, "She is my sister. There's nothing I wouldn't do for family."

She grasps his face with her strong, strong fingers and pushes it up against hers. Her tongue flicks out like a snake, tasting his lips in teasing licks.

When he tries to push her away, she slams his head against the back of the chair. Taking the moment he needs to recover from the slight daze, she straddles him and unbuttons the top of his robes.

"Taste me, Severus. It's been so long… you need to reacquaint yourself with despair."

Hot little nips along his jaw-line, fingers running forcefully along his lips. She breathes into his ear, causing him to shudder. An electric tingle shoots up his left nipple.

His eyes are closed, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. She unbuttons the top of her robes and reveals herself to him. Bare. Smothering. She peels his eyelids open with demanding thumbs so he can see her dark nipples, already erect in the cool night temperatures.

"What did she do for you? Go on. I can pretend. You can pretend. What did the mudblood do for you? Instruct me, professor."

"This is perverse," his voice is strangled and her forceful hand makes it impossible for him to tear his eyes away. Something deeper than loneliness anchors his gaze as well.

"It all was from the start," she purrs and licks in the inner curve of his ear. Her hand reaches into his trousers and she fondles his stirring cock. The vein is sticking out on his hand now, he's gripping the chair so tightly.

"Severus… " she whispers, the familiar malice hidden away. He shudders.

"Say it… say it again."

"_Severus_."

His eyes are closed. They both know who he is imagining.

Her body is all wrong, but he tells himself that the faster he thrusts, the easier it will be to ignore. Her breasts are bigger, her skin is paler. No freckles dust Bella's body. Severus' favourite cluster was just underneath the swell of her left breast. He always had a kiss reserved for it. He has nothing to give that kiss to on Bella's cold, arrogant body, so he bites his lip instead. He cannot see the faint, blue vein that traveled upward from her stomach. The one his finger lazily traced, teasing, electric. He grips the sheets instead.

She moans. She writhes. Her hips move in tandem with his. He can feel a muscle in her thigh flex as she hooks her leg over his. She breaths, "professor, professor, professor" as if that is the thing he wants to hear.

The friction builds and he can feel something unfurl behind his navel. His toes curl and his hand grips her hair. Bushy. Almost right. Her walls spasm erratically around him and he feels his balls clench before jerking forward, his head thrown back.

"Hermione…"

It leaves his lips like an afterthought. He shudders into Bella, hips rocking one last time before all that is left is stillness.

Stillness and laughter.

Bellatrix is laughing, a mocking, self-satisfied sound tinged with glee. It is only when she realizes a rich baritone is accompanying her that she stops. Severus laughs, clapping his hand against her cheek too roughly to be comradely. There is something knowing in his eyes that make her feel as if she's gone from chess player to chess piece. He is still laughing.

"Gone mad, have you?"

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Her wand is tossed neatly to the side. He pulls out of her, wincing slightly at the 'squelch', and pulls his trousers on. His soul has already been torn up enough for him to worry about one more hole. It is finished.

* * *

"Still alive, are you?"

Severus lies down on the floor beside the fireplace. His hands lay over his stomach and he stares up at the ceiling. He had been contemplating what it must be like to lie down in an empty grave. What would it be like to make love in an empty gravesite? Would the earthy walls hold up against the pushing hands and pushing legs, or would the world collapse around him as he gasped for sweet air?

Crookshanks has joined him, leaping onto his chests and surprising an 'oof' from his otherwise picture-perfect tableau.

Severus winds his fingers into the scruff of the cat's neck. It gazes at him with its squashed, ugly face. Unperturbed. Unconcerned.

"Wild thing, have you never felt sorry for yourself?"

Crookshanks makes a small 'meow' of annoyance and shifts on Severus' chest. His hind legs are arthritic and his claws dig into Severus' chest as he makes himself comfortable.

"Have you never pitied your shortcomings? Or felt there was no difference between drowning in requital or within temptation?"

Severus feels tears prick at his eyes and he knows he has failed his private funeral farce. Corpses cannot cry.

"We should all be so lucky to be like you."

* * *

END


End file.
